


When Christmas is Almost Ruined

by smarshtastic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:04:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snow always made Christmas feel a little magical to Dean, even in the most unmagical places like motel parking lots and run-down towns. Even now, snow had a special place in Dean's heart, even if Christmas wasn't as important to him any more. But this year, the whole thing is nearly ruined when the Winchesters and Castiel hunt down a demon horde, and Cas goes missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Then

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was created for the [Destiel Advent Calendar](http://destieladventcalendar.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. 
> 
> Please don't let the tags scare you! It is Christmas after all :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean always tried to give Sammy a good Christmas, even when their circumstances work against them. One Christmas, Castiel steps in to give Dean a hand.

The holiday season following Mary's horrific death was impossibly hard. John had taken the boys away, as far away from Kansas as he could go in the Impala. They had ended up in some rundown motel in Oregon or Idaho, he hadn't paid attention to the state lines since they had crossed out of Kansas. Dean, a little older than four years old now, had his face pressed against the glass of the motel room window, watching the snow fall slowly, coating the parking lot in that serene blanket of white that made even the seediest of places look innocent again. The neon lights of the 'Vacancy' sign reflected off the new snow in shifting, sparkling colors. Dean was enchanted; he'd never seen anything so pretty.

"Dad?" Dean asked, watching his breath fog up the window. He breathed another puff of air against the glass when his dad didn't respond immediately. "Dad?" he asked again.

John looked up from the bottom of his bottle, eyes rimmed red, a defeated slump to his shoulders. He was sitting at the rickety little formica table in the kitchenette, nursing what was left of a bottle of whiskey. "Get away from the window, Dean," John said, rubbing at his eyes. He felt tired, so tired, these days. 

Dean trotted over to his father dutifully, casting a glance at the broken down crib the motel had scrounged up for his little brother. It was his job - it was very important - to look out for Sammy. He remembered the heat at his back when he ran out of their house, clutching his baby brother close, and he knew that was what being a big brother was about. Dean took it very seriously. Maybe if he could prove to his daddy that he could take really good care of his brother, his daddy would let him get a puppy. Or even a kitten, those were smaller. Sammy was asleep now, tucked under his brother's coat in lieu of a blanket. Dean scrambled into the other chair at the table, peeking over the edge at his father.

"Dad?" Dean asked again. John closed his eyes briefly, hand tightening on the bottle for a moment. "Dad, is it Christmas?"

John raised the bottle and took a long swig. He shook his head. "Not yet. In a couple days."

"Oh," Dean said, thinking about this. He traced over a crack in the table top with his fingers. "Does that mean we get a pretty tree again? And lots of pie?"

"No, Dean," John managed to grind out. Dean looked confused.

"Why not? Last year, we had a tree and a man in a red jacket came and gave me presents. And mom made pie -" Dean stopped, looking at his father anxiously. He didn't understand, but mom was not coming back, and if he asked, it usually made his father yell or go very quiet. Once he punched a hole through the wall. They had to leave that motel very fast.

"Not this year, Dean," John said, jaw tight. Dean squirmed in his seat a little bit.

"But - but last year you told me Santa brings good little boys presents," he said, trying to keep his voice quiet. "Does that mean - I tried to be really good, Daddy, I look after Sammy and I -"

"That's enough Dean."

"But - Santa -"

"Santa doesn't exist. Go brush your teeth and go to sleep," John snapped, voice stern. Dean slid out of his seat quickly, recognizing that tone. John watched his little boy retreat into the bathroom. His chest felt tight through that fog of booze; he knew somewhere he shouldn't take it out on the kid, it wasn't his fault, but John couldn't bear to think about any of it.

Dean reemerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. He glanced at his father, but he was drinking from that big bottle again, and it was usually a very bad idea to bother him when he was doing that. Dean had bothered him enough for the night. He went to the crib and carefully reached between the bars to pet his little brother's head.

"Good night, Sammy," Dean whispered. "Dream of nice things like snow. I love you."

Sammy shifted under his brother's jacket, but didn't wake up. He was able to sleep through the night a lot better now. Dean was glad because then Daddy wouldn't be so grumpy. Dean glanced at his father again as he climbed into bed, but John showed no signs of moving.

"Good night daddy," Dean said, keeping his voice quiet, just in case daddy decided to yell again. John made no reply.

High above in Heaven, the Lord's youngest angel's heart was breaking.

\---

When Dean was older, he did his best to give his little brother the best Christmases he could muster. There were several years after their mother died where Christmas simply didn't happen; John would leave Dean in charge of Sammy, and he wouldn't come back for hours. When he finally would come back, John would smell sour and stale, he'd slur his words, and he'd pass out on his bed with barely a word to Dean or Sammy.

It was almost better when their dad didn't come home on those nights, anyway.

But, Dean never forgot about Christmas. He liked the lights and trees. He liked how the windows of the shops in the little towns they’d pass through would get all dressed up, sparkling and magical. He liked when it snowed, and everything was soft and quiet, and Dean could almost imagine himself in any of those holiday movies the motel TVs would play during December. When he could, Dean would do little things for Sammy. He'd always get him a present, because Sammy was a very good boy and - even if Santa didn't exist - Sam should know how good he was. Once, Dean stole the little Christmas tree that decorated the check in desk at the motel to keep in their room. Sometimes he could get them some pie, but it was never as good as their mother's had been.

The best was when they were somewhere where it was snowing, and it would get all pure and quiet and they could watch the snow cover the Impala from the warmth of their motel room.

Up in Heaven, Castiel watched the little boy who would become the Righteous Man care for his younger brother, and he would feel his own heart break. Gabriel made fun of him endlessly, but there was something so beautiful, but so tragic, about the little boy who only wanted his father and brother to be happy. Who did everything he could in his power to take care of what remained of his family.

Surely, there was something Castiel could do for him now - something small to make his childhood even just a little bit easier. 

This Christmas, John had dragged Dean and Sam somewhere in the southwest. It was hot, it was dry, and it certainly didn't feel like Christmas. The decorations Dean saw out the window of the Impala as they drove through town seemed absurd, out of place in the desert. The afternoon before Christmas, Sam was flopped over his bed in shorts and a t-shirt, watching the Christmas specials on TV with rapt attention while his brother carefully cleaned their father's knives. Dean was nine now, and Sam was five. 

"Dean?" Sammy asked as the holiday commercials blared. Dean looked up. 

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Is it going to snow on Christmas?" 

Dean carefully set down the knife he was polishing. "Not this year, I think, Sammy."

"Why?"

"We're in the desert. It never snows in the desert. And it's not even cold enough," Dean said. He couldn't keep the wistful tone out of his voice. Sam looked disappointed too. He had seen all the happy families coming together on TV, coming together to celebrate the holiday with mountains of food and presents and snow, and Sam had never had that. 

"Everyone on TV gets snow on Christmas," he said, frowning wistfully. 

"Yeah, well. We're not on TV," Dean said. "Sorry, Sammy."

John didn't come home that night, which was a Christmas gift in itself. Dean made them dinner - instant mashed potatoes and a can of soup - and Sam didn't ask about snow again, though his furrowed brow told Dean that he was still processing why everyone on TV gets snow, but they don't. Dean helped Sam get ready for bed, and helped him check under their beds for monsters (none tonight, thank goodness). After Sam was safely tucked into bed, Dean turned off the lights and slipped into his own bed, hoping beyond reason that they would wake up to a different place, a different life, where they might have a white Christmas, just like the people on TV. 

In Heaven, Castiel was plotting. The Winchester boys deserved something more than a lukewarm can of soup and holiday reruns on television. He watched Dean fall asleep from afar, lashes long against freckled cheeks. Dean looked so young and innocent when he was asleep; the weight of his responsibility lifted from his face and made him look like the child he was, like the child he never got to be. 

When Dean and Sam were safely asleep, Castiel made sure that John wouldn't come back until his miracle had passed and Christmas was over. It only took another bottle of whiskey and an available woman to distract him. Then the angel’s work began. 

The next morning, Dean woke later than he had intended to. He sat up in bed, instinctively looking for his brother first, but Sammy was still asleep in his own bed. The motel room was filled with a soft, almost glowing light. Dean rubbed at his eyes as he climbed out of bed to get breakfast for himself and Sam. His eyes caught on the view through the window. 

"Dean?" Sam asked sleepily from his bed. 

Dean had his faced pressed to the window. He couldn't quite believe his eyes: outside, the ground was covered in a thick, sparkling blanket of snow, as white and fluffy as it could be. The glass was actually cold against his face. Everything was still, quiet, clean - that calm, ethereal quality that every fresh snowfall had. 

"Dean?" Sam asked again. Dean peeled his face from the glass. 

"Sammy! It snowed!" he said, running over to drag Sam out of bed. 

"Eh - Dean - stop it, you said it doesn't snow in the desert," Sam protested, trying to wiggle out of his older brother's grip. Dean dragged him to the window. 

"Look!"

Sam blinked out at the snow that covered the previous dingy motel parking lot, transforming it into an improbable crisp, white landscape. A nearby cactus was caked in snow. 

"Is it real?" Sam asked, eyes wide. 

"Of course it's real!" Dean said. "Feel to glass - look, look feel -" 

Dean pressed Sam's hand to the cold glass of the window. Sam yelped. "Dean!" 

"C'mon - let's eat and then we can build a snow fort. I think there's enough snow," Dean said excitedly. He ruffled Sammy's hair and practically bounced into the kitchenette to make them both breakfast. When he opened the cabinet, he found two steaming hot plates of food; eggs and bacon and waffles and potatoes. Dean took a step back. That was weird. More than weird. 

"Dean?" 

"Hold on -" Dean went around the room and checked the wards that their father had left - but everything was in place. The salt lines were intact, no sign of sulfur... Where had the food come from?

Dean went back to the cabinet and poked at one plate. Piping hot, fresh, real. He pulled the plates out of the cabinet and set them on the rickety kitchen table. 

"Breakfast's up, Sammy," he said. "Come eat while it's still warm."

Sammy trotted to the table and blinked at all the food. "Did you make all this?"

"Yeah," Dean lied. It was easier than trying to figure out where all this had come from. And he didn't want to freak Sam out on Christmas, either. He didn’t want to ruin it. "Merry Christmas, Sammy."

Dean peeked back in the cabinet while Sammy sat down to eat. He found a little slip of paper, with beautiful, loopy handwriting - distinctly unlike his father's. All it said was "Merry Christmas, Dean Winchester." Dean crumpled the paper in his hand quickly and shoved it in his pocket. 

"Dean? You gotta try this - it's really good! The bacon's not even burned."

Dean turned back to his brother. He wasn't sure where all this came from, wasn't sure if he could trust it, but it all felt real, might as well enjoy it. "Yeah, I'm getting better at that, huh?"


	2. Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These days, the Winchester brothers don't really celebrate Christmas. Usually they're hunting, or one of them is dead, and Christmas comes and goes with a toast to all their limbs being in the right place and maybe a steak at a local diner. 
> 
> This year, Sam, Dean and Cas are tracking down a demon horde when it all goes terribly wrong.

Dean flew through the air until he crashed through a wall, which didn't do much to slow or soften his landing. His head was pounding and his ears were ringing, but years of fighting demons had taught him to keep going. Besides, he was made of sterner stuff, and a couple of bruised or even cracked ribs weren't going to slow him down. A foot came down and stomped on his wrist. Dean winced. That might slow him down a bit more. 

"Give it up, Winchester, you're outnumbered, you can't win this one," the demon growled, grinding her foot down on Dean's wrist. 

"C'mon, that all you got?" Dean retorted, twisting under her foot. His other hand came up with a silver knife, sinking it into her ankle. She screamed, giving Dean enough time to roll away. The demon recovered, laughing. 

"We already got your angel, Deany. He won't be so holy for long, not with our tricks. Well - he might be hole-y," the demon taunted, lunging for Dean again. "Maybe we'll skewer him on the top of a pretty Christmas tree. I always did appreciate that little detail."

He lurched away, but the demon was quicker. She grabbed him by the neck and held him aloft, grinning in his face. She squeezed, making the edges of Dean's world go dark. 

Suddenly, the tip of the demon blade was poking through her chest and then she was gone. Dean fell to the floor with her body. 

"Took you long enough, Sammy," Dean coughed, struggling to his feet. He looked over his baby brother out of habit; a cut over the eye, bleeding through the sleeve of his shirt, but in one piece. 

"Where's your boyfriend?" Sam asked, steadying Dean with one hand. Dean narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. 

"What?"

"Cas? Where's Cas?"

"That joke sure never gets old, does it, Sam?"

"I'm just saying - the way you two look at each other..."

"Shut up, Sammy."

"Fine. Where's Cas then?"

"Dunno. He was right behind us until he wasn’t, and I didn’t hear anything from him. She said they had him," he replied. He picked up his own fallen weapons, pausing to wipe the blood off his knife on the demon's shirt. 

"They have him? Who? The demons?"

"Yes, the demons, Sam. Who else? We did say this was a horde, didn't we?" Dean said, limping to the door. "We gotta find him."

"Can't Cas just - I don't know, bamf out of there?"

"Maybe. Not going to take the chance, though."

"You're limping."

"Yeah, and my wrist hurts like hell. You might've seen me get thrown through the wall. Unless you were too busy checking your hair or something."

Sam made a face at his brother. "I had two demons on me, Dean."

"Excuses."

"Jerk!"

"Bitch."

The brothers swept the floor of the abandoned factory, looking for any more signs of the demons or Cas. Aside from the damage from their fight, there was nothing else. They canvassed the rest of the building, but there wasn't a single angelic or demonic soul left. Dean paused at the entrance, a bad feeling creeping into his chest. Or maybe that was the broken ribs. 

"What do you want to do?" Sam asked, scanning the factory. He looked back at his brother. "I mean, Cas probably bamf'd out of there before anything could happen to him."

Dean was unconvinced, but wasn’t sure what it was about all this that didn’t sit well with him. They had dealt with hordes before, even since they started hunting with Cas regularly, but this felt different. He had a bad feeling tightening in his chest that he couldn't quite shake. "Maybe."

"So... what? What's the plan? Wait around here and let the horde regroup?"

"No," Dean said finally, shaking his head. "Let's get back to the motel, get cleaned up. If we don't hear from Cas by morning..."

Sam glanced at the horizon, where the sun was already beginning to peek between the bare trees. Dean made a face, patting his pockets for his cell phone. He checked the screen for messages, but there wasn’t anything there. 

"We'll give him some time," Dean said, walking out to where the Impala was parked. It was a crisp, late fall, early winter morning; clear and bright, with a sharp cold breeze that warned of the impending winter. He popped open the trunk and stowed his weapons. "He can take care of himself."

They drove back to their motel and treated their wounds. Dean put a stitch in the cut above Sam's eye, and Sam helped Dean wrap his wrist up. A couple of swigs of whiskey was all Sam needed before he passed out on his bed, only half under the blankets, the TV playing some Christmas movie. Dean nursed his own whiskey as he sat on the edge of his bed. He had already left a message or two on Cas's phone (he wasn't actually sure if Cas knew how to check his voicemail; Dean made a mental note to teach him when he came back). Dean sent a text, too, just in case. But that feeling in his chest didn't go away, and it wasn't because of the bruised and broken ribs. 

Normally, Dean wasn't the praying type. Any faith he had had long since gone, and Dean didn’t consider himself an optimist. But he wanted to make sure Cas heard him, and praying was a surefire way to make sure the message got through. Angel radio was more reliable than cellphones. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, feeling faintly ridiculous as he did so. 

"Cas, buddy. Listen - I don't know what happened, but I got this weird feeling. I hope you got out of there alright. You don't have to come back if you're hurt or anything, but just let us know you're okay, yeah? Amen, or whatever," Dean mumbled. He drained the rest of his whiskey and flopped back on his bed. The booze, pain, and exhaustion took over, and he was asleep almost immediately, in spite of the litany of Christmas carols blaring from the TV.

\---

The next day, Dean convinced Sam to go back to the factory to see if anything was left behind that might clue them in on what happened to Cas. Sam had a nasty black eye and they were both moving slow, but Dean insisted, and Sam knew better than to put up too much of a fight when Dean took on that tone of voice. The Big Brother tone. They found nothing, aside from the bodies of the possessed people left behind.

"This is stupid, Dean, we need to get out of here," Sam was saying nervously. "Cas knows how to find us, he'll find us."

It was stupid - they never went back to places they had fought, not when someone could have tipped off the police. But Dean couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something, that they might be able to find a clue to where Cas had gone. 

"Look - you left him messages, he'll know we're looking for him. We can't stick around, Dean."

Dean didn’t say anything for a long time, looking around the factory like if he looked long enough, something, some clue would reveal itself to him. Finally, Dean relented. His body was aching, and he really could use the rest. He needed to take care of himself, not worry about an angel with more power than he could fathom. Cas could take care of himself. Still, Dean hesitated.

"Yeah - okay. Let's get out of here."

On the way back to their motel, a cop pulled them over. Sam, ever the anxious goody two shoes, fished their fake papers from the glove compartment. 

"Relax, Sammy," Dean chided, rolling down the window to give the officer a winning smile. "What seems to be the problem officer?"

The policeman looked at Dean for a long moment before lowering his sunglasses. "Just conducting a routine check," the man said. His eyes flashed black. 

"Sam -" was all Dean could get out before the demon had hauled him through the window. Sam scrambled for the demon blade while Dean struggled with the demon. 

"Where is he?" Dean coughed, aiming a punch for the demon's temple. The demon caught his hand and twisted the already damaged wrist. 

"Who, your little angel lover?" the demon laughed, watching Dean squirm. "Oh don't worry, he's safe with us."

Dean kicked the demon's legs out from under him. He managed to pin the demon to the ground, ignoring the pain that screamed through his body. He was a professional, he had worse. "You let him go, you prick," Dean growled. The demon laughed in his face. 

"Precious!" 

The demon surged up, rolling them to pin Dean to the ground. His head cracked painfully against the asphalt. The demon's face was suddenly millimeters away from his own. 

"We got plans for your little angel, Winchester, big plans," the demon grinned. Dean’s vision swam for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly that meant. He struggled under the demon weakly.

“I said –”

Sam yanked the demon off Dean and stabbed it through the chest. The demon screamed then went slack in Sam’s hands. He let the body fall to the ground. "Let's go," Sam said, offering his brother a hand up. His eyes darted around nervously, like another cop might come out of nowhere. 

"Took you long enough," Dean grumbled. He touched the back of his head - his hand came away with blood. Sam pushed Dean into the passenger's seat. 

"You're not driving," Sam said, before Dean could protest. They peeled away from the side of the road. Sam clenched and unclenched his hands around the steering wheel. "What the hell was that?"

"Demons," Dean said, shaking his head as if to clear it. His head throbbed, making his mind spin. "Said they have Cas."

"Who?"

"Demons, Sammy, keep up."

"I know demons, Dean," Sam said petulantly. He glanced over at this brother briefly. "But - who? Why?"

"Dunno. Said they have plans. You ganked him before I had a chance to ask for details."

"You looked like you were going to pass out."

"I was not!"

Sam shook his head, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "It doesn't matter. This can't be good."

"No, really?"

"Shut up, Dean. You're concussed."

"How do you know?"

"You get extra sarcastic. You sure he didn't say anything else?"

Dean made a face. "Nothing. I'm guessing there's more demons in town, though."

Sam frowned thoughtfully as they pulled into their motel parking lot. "And you haven't heard anything from Cas?"

"Not a peep. My phone’s been quiet.”

“I mean, your profound bond thing. You can’t tune into angel radio?”

“It doesn’t work like that, Sammy,” Dean said. To be truthful, he was never really sure what Cas meant when he mentioned their profound bond. If Dean had any way to tap into the angel broadcasting, he wasn’t sure how to do it. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. 

"Well," Sam said as he killed the engine. "Looks like we've gotta do a little digging."

\---

Research turned up nothing. There were scattered signs of demon activity, but nothing that would indicate something bigger was going on. It seemed like the horde had dispersed. Whatever was going on was well enough under the radar that the usual signs were missing.

"It's weird, man," Sam was saying as he pecked at his laptop. "Something like the horde should've tripped some sort of sign. But - there's nothing. Business as usual, according to the local news."

"Mm," Dean grunted from where he lay on the bed. He wasn't paying attention to Sam, or the holiday themed show on TV. Dean didn’t realize that Christmas was fast approaching. They never had the chance to celebrate it anymore, and even if they did, it was usually a quick toast to another year not dead. He rolled his cellphone in his hands, willing it to ring or vibrate.

"Dean? Dean - are you even listening to me? You can't use a concussion as an excuse to ignore me."

"What?" Dean looked up.

"We can't stay here," Sam said, his expression telling Dean that that was maybe the third or fourth time Sam had said that. Dean blinked.

"What do you mean we can't stay here?"

"If there's a horde or not -" Sam shook his head. "We can't stay here. They know we're here, it's not safe. Even if they have Cas, and I'm not convinced they do, there isn't much that we can do that an angel can."

"So, what? You just wanna leave him?"

"I don't want to leave him - if he's still here - Cas would want us to get to safety, regroup, think of another plan."

"How would you know what Cas wants?"

"He's a soldier, Dean. It's strategy - just 'cause you two are fucking or whatever -"

"We're not fucking!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well maybe you should. It doesn't matter - we need to get out of here."

Dean rubbed a hand over his tender face. He didn't like this. It felt like leaving a man behind, and Dean didn't leave men behind. But what could they do? There were no signs of Cas anywhere. He checked his phone again, but it hadn't rung in the last five minutes anyway. 

"Fine - we'll leave in the morning. You're not going to let me drive now, and I can't sit in the car with your music and this headache right now," Dean said finally. Sam made a face at him. 

"It's Christmas music, Dean. And you made the rules."

"Shut up."

\---

It was dark, oppressively so. For a moment, Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe. Dean could barely see his hand in front of his face, and it was blurry - almost like he was seeing static. He knew, somehow, that he was dreaming, but it didn't feel like his dream. It was a peculiar feeling. Unsettling.

The darkness resolved itself into a vast warehouse space. The edges of the warehouse seemed to disappear into the darkness, but Dean got a glimpse of some strange, rusted conveyer belt of some sort, standing against one wall. He turned on the spot slowly. 

"Hello?" he called out. His voice seemed to die out and fall just in front of him, unable to penetrate the darkness. This whole thing was really disconcerting. 

When Dean tried to take a step, flames flared up around him - too real; he could feel the heat on his own skin. He drew back quickly, before his skin could bubble and boil. 

"Dean," a familiar low voice suddenly echoed in his head. Dean's head shot up. 

"Cas?" Dean asked. "Cas? Is that you? Are you...?"

The whole scene wavered, fading out for a moment before flaring painfully bright and hot around him. 

"Dean," Cas's voice echoed again, fainter this time. 

"Cas? Where are you? What's going on? Cas? Cas!"

Dean woke with a start, his brother shaking him roughly. He blinked at Sam in the darkened hotel room. 

"What the hell, Sammy?" 

"You were shouting in your sleep," Sam said petulantly. His black eye stood out in the darkness, and he looked seriously displeased. 

"What?" Dean rubbed at his eyes. His head was pounding, making keeping his eyes open difficult, and the skin on his front ached from a burn that wasn’t there. 

"You were yelling for Cas," Sam said. "If you're going to start having sex dreams about him -"

"I wasn't -" Dean blinked, the images of the dream coming back to him. "I know where Cas is, Sam."

"What?"

"I said I know where Cas is," Dean threw back the blankets and got out of bed. His head spun for a moment at the sudden shift, his legs threatened to give out. Sam was close behind him. 

"What are you talking about, Dean?"

"There was a warehouse - it was big. With - I think there was fire," Dean said, flopping into a chair and powering up Sam's laptop. He rubbed absently at a spot on his arm that still felt like it was being burned. It must have been his imagination – but the skin under his hand was hot to the touch. 

"Dean, it was a dream. A bad one, apparently, but it was just a dream. We're not prophets, that doesn't happen to us."

"It felt real, Sam. Really real," Dean insisted, pulling up a search engine to google local warehouses. Sam looked skeptical as he sat down across from Dean. 

"How can you know, though?"

"I just do, okay? Cas has dream walked before."

"So he showed up in your dream and told you where he was?"

"Not exactly," Dean said, frowning at the computer screen. His searches were coming up empty. 

"Then what?"

"I heard his voice."

Sam didn't say anything for a long time. Dean looked up to see Sam looking extremely skeptical. 

"What, Sammy? You had your visions -"

"That's not the same thing, Dean. Not at all."

"Just trust me on this one, alright?" Dean said. Sam fell silent, sitting across from his brother at the kitchen table, just watching him thoughtfully. Dean poked at the keyboard some more, increasingly frustrated. Finally, something came up that looked oddly familiar. He turned the laptop around to show his brother. "There."

Sam pulled the laptop to him to look for himself. "Are you sure?"

Dean wasn't, but it was the best lead he had and he didn't want to let it pass by without doing something about it. He nodded. "We need to go." 

"Now?"

"Yes, now Sammy," Dean got up to start putting on clothes, ignoring the ache of his battered body. The burning on his arm hadn’t let up, and it was increasingly uncomfortable. Sam looked at the warehouse a little longer, frowning at the screen. 

"Sammy? You coming?"

His younger brother got up with a sigh. "I'm still not letting you drive with a concussion."

\---

The warehouse was quiet when they got there. It was an abandoned packing facility, no guards, on the outskirts of town. The chain link fence was practically falling down. Everything was very still, eerily so, the sky tinged a strange green color. A storm was coming. Dean slipped out of the Impala and grabbed weapons from the trunk.

"What's the plan, Dean?" Sam asked, tucking the demon blade into his belt. Dean slipped extra rounds into his pockets. 

"Go in, kill the demons, save the angel?"

Sam rubbed his face. Not that he could offer up a better plan, but - this wasn't going to end well. 

The brothers stepped into the warehouse, weapons drawn, listening. The warehouse was empty, save for some rusting machines and leftover packing supplies – rotting cardboard, wood crates, spools of twine were scattered everywhere. It was quiet but for the whistle of the cold breeze through the broken windows. 

"Dean, I don't think anything's -"

Sam was cut off by a sudden piercing scream. Dean's chest tightened uncomfortably, the burning feeling on his arm suddenly flaring up hot. 

"Move, Sammy," he said, surging forward toward the sound of the scream. A feeling of dread was growing in the pit of his stomach. Sam followed close behind, constantly looking over his shoulder as he went. 

"What do you think -"

"Shh."

Dean paused, listening. Another scream cut through the air, making Dean wince. The sobs that followed led the Winchesters into a smaller packing room off the main warehouse floor. In the middle of the room, a slumped figure kneeled in a ring of what must have been holy fire. 

"Oh, look, Castiel, it's your knight in shining armor," said a strange, tall creature which stood over Cas in the circle of holy fire. The creature's eyes shone blue and electric, much like Cas's once did, but distinctly more sinister. It picked up what looked like an iron poker, white hot from the holy fire, and sank it into Cas's shoulder. Dean nearly staggered back, suddenly recognizing what that burning feeling in his own arm was. The creature raised his voice over Cas's screams. "Holy fire makes such a useful weapon."

Dean had lunged forward, but Sam grabbed him and yanked him back. 

"Don't bother, Dean Winchester," the creature said. "He's already told me everything. He pines for you, you know, your angel."

"Let him go," Dean ground out, tightening his hand around his gun. 

"But we're not through playing! He told me all about your plan - to close to gates of Hell. You won't succeed," the creature said. "It is already Written."

The creature pressed the brand against the side of Cas's face. Dean tried to block out the scream. Through the flickering flames, he could see how broken Cas's body was. 

"Yeah, well, we have a habit of rewriting things," Dean said, approaching the circle of fire carefully. He felt Sam shadowing his steps behind him. Suddenly, the two of them were thrown back, crashing into a rusted conveyer belt that stood next to the wall. 

"Uh uh, I'm stronger than you know. You've never met one of my kind," the creature said. Dean and Sam struggled to detangle themselves from the rusted heap of metal and each other's limbs. His head was spinning from his lingering wounds and the heat of the fire. It was all he could do to get back up, but the sight of Cas looking broken and defeated beyond the flames spurred him on. 

"Well, there's still only one of you," Dean said, wobbling to his feet. "I like the odds."

The creature laughed. 

"You will not succeed without your angel, and he's almost burnt out," the creature tugged back Cas's hair to pull his head up. His face was badly burned, skin peeling away in places, his eyes dull. Cas blinked, seemingly with great effort, and then his eyes fell on Dean. The spark in his eye brightened briefly. 

"Dean," he rasped. The creature laughed again - it was a cold, cruel sound that shook Dean to the bone. 

"Adorable! Even in his final moments -" it jabbed the hot iron into Cas's chest, its own face reveling in the screams that fell weaker and weaker from Cas's mouth. Dean couldn't look away, couldn't make himself move. His ears rang with Cas's cries, and he felt powerless to stop it. 

Behind him, Dean felt Sam shift and spring forward suddenly. He heard the gun go off and the clank of the iron as it fell to the floor. Something came down from the ceiling, breaking the circle of holy fire. Sam was ahead of him, but Dean sprang after, going right for the creature that was still holding onto Cas. 

The element of surprise worked in their favor, at least for a moment. Sam was on the creature, dragging it away from Cas while Dean dragged Cas in the opposite direction.

"Dean," Cas coughed weakly. Dean felt the angel's hand clutch on his arm.

"Just - hang on a little longer, okay?"

"Seraph," he murmured. Cas shook his head once and then his grip went slack. A metallic clatter on the floor next to them distracted Dean momentarily; Cas's angel blade caught the flickering light of what was left of the holy fire. He wasn’t sure what any of this meant – weren’t seraphs angels? 

"Dean!" Sam's voice was urgent, desperate, drawing Dean back to the fight at hand. Dean let Cas fall from his arms. He grabbed the angel blade and lunged for the creature, sinking it right between its shoulder blades. A light swelled from the creature's chest, and Dean managed to throw an arm over his eyes before it exploded in a burst of light. 

"Sammy?" Dean asked. Somehow he was on his knees, the charred shadow of the creature burned into the floor beneath him. 

"I'm here - I'm okay," Sam said. He dragged a shaky hand over his face, coming away with blood from where the stitch over his eye reopened. He looked at Dean, stunned.

"Put out the fire," Dean said, struggling back to his feet. 

"Is he...?"

Dean didn't answer. Angel blade still in hand, he limped back to where Cas had fallen. He didn’t mean to drop him, but Sam was in trouble… The angel wasn't moving. Dean swallowed down his guilt. Dropping the blade on the ground, Dean hoisted him up with some difficulty. Cas was surprisingly light. He managed to get an arm under Cas securely. 

"You just going to stand there, Sammy?" Dean grunted. Sam came over to pick up the angel blade, then stopped and pointed to the shadow underneath the corpse of the creature Dean killed. 

"It had wings, like an angel."

"Yeah, Cas said seraph," Dean said, adjusting his grip. "Let's get out of here before I pass out too, okay?"

Sam hurried to get an arm under Cas's other side and helped get them both back to the Impala. Dean laid Cas out in the backseat, arranging him carefully so that nothing pressed on the burns and cuts that littered his body. It was fighting a losing battle. 

"Take it easy on the driving, Sam," Dean said as he slid into the front seat. "He's pretty messed up."

Sam nodded and did his best to avoid potholes the whole ride back to the motel. Dean's own body was aching, but he was more concerned about the seemingly lifeless angel in the back of his car. His every instinct was telling him something was wrong, that this wasn’t going to end well. He kept looking over his shoulder to check on Cas until they were back in the motel parking lot. 

Sam hesitated a moment after he killed the engine. "I don't know if we should stay here, Dean. There's still demons around."

"We can't drive like this," Dean said, indicating his own body with a sweep of his hand. "We need a good night's sleep and a little time to stop bleeding."

Sam sighed, but didn't make any other protests. He hurt too, and there was only so much driving he could take. Dean was trying to ease Cas out of the backseat, but the angle was awkward and hard to maneuver on his own. Sam came around and helped Dean half carry, half drag Cas into their motel room. Together, they laid Cas out on the bed. Sam grimaced when he turned the lights on and he could get a good look at Cas’s face. 

"He looks kind of... Dead," Sam said. Dean looked up sharply as he tried to peel away what was left of Cas's trench coat. 

"You saw what that thing was doing to him."

"I'm just saying, Dean, I don't know if his vessel can come back from this."

"He came back from being exploded."

"But, holy fire?"

Dean made no response. He looked down at Cas; burns crisscrossed his face and neck, skin was peeling from his forehead, there were cuts and burns all over his torso and legs, through his suit... Dean swallowed as the guilt started to well up again. 

"I don't know, Sammy. We'll do the best we can."

By "we," however, Dean apparently meant himself, since he wouldn't let Sam anywhere near Cas as he carefully cleaned up the burns and cuts on Cas's exposed skin. Sam treated his own wounds, waiting for a lull in his brother's activity before he tried to treat Dean's too. Dean brushed him off. Sam sighed. 

"You should probably clean the stuff that's under his clothes too, Dean. What if he punctured an organ or something?" Sam said, rubbing his face. Dean blinked down at Cas's body. 

"I - yeah. Right."

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just -" Dean shook his head. "It's weird enough seeing him without a trenchcoat."

Sam blinked. "You don't want to see your boyfriend naked?"

"He's not my -!" Dean stopped and took a deep breath. "Get a clean towel, would you?"

Dean waited for Sam to get up before he pulled the suit jacket off of Cas, carefully. He told himself the shake in his hands as he unbuttoned Cas's shirt was the adrenalin leaving his system, that he was just feeling his own pain now. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that this was Cas, that Dean hadn't seen him like this before, or that Dean was scared of what he might find under Cas's clothes. 

The burns that marred Cas's chest were worse; deep stabs with radiating burns around them, cauterized over by the heat of the iron the seraph was using. Dean reached out as if to touch one of the cauterized burns. 

"What're you doing?" Sam asked, startling Dean out of his thoughts. He pulled his hand back. 

"They're all healed over," Dean said, clearing his throat. "The burns are, I mean. Cauterized."

Sam handed Dean the towel. "Just make sure they're clean, I guess."

"Yeah, that was the idea."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you gonna make sure you're not hemorrhaging internally or anything? You still have a concussion."

"I've had worse."

Sam frowned, but didn't say anything else. He retreated into the bathroom and moments later Dean heard the shower running. 

"Damn it, Cas," Dean breathed without venom, using the towel to carefully clean the angel's torso. This was bad. He'd never seen anyone use holy fire like that - who knows what it could do. Jimmy had been burned out of Cas a long time ago, but how much could his body take before it was too much? Before... Dean let that thought trail off. He didn’t want to think about that right now. Or ever, really. 

With Cas's wounds treated and carefully covered, Dean found a t-shirt and a pair of sweats to change Cas into. He moved slowly, hesitantly, averting his eyes, even though the angel didn't know the first thing about personal space. Still, he felt like he was intruding. Cas was changed and tucked into Dean's bed by the time Sam came out of the shower. Sam blinked at him. 

"Dude."

"What?" Dean asked, rewrapping his wrist. It was probably broken, judging by the constant, sharp throb and discoloration all around him. 

"You changed him? And... tucked him in?" Sam blinked incredulously at his brother. 

"So? I wasn't going to leave him in burned and bloody clothes."

"Is that a Metallica t-shirt?"

"Shut up."

"Are you going to spoon? Maybe I should get another room..."

"I said shut up, Sammy."

Sam put his hands up. "Alright, alright. Don't get your panties in a twist." 

"Bitch," Dean mumbled under his breath. Sam shook his head as he climbed into his own bed. 

"Seriously, where are you going to sleep?" 

"I'll figure it out, Sammy. Don't worry your pretty little head."

"Fine. Turn off the light when you do sleep."

\---

Dean ended up sleeping on the floor, sitting up against his bed with his head tilted back onto the mattress. It was uncomfortable, but familiar; he used to sleep sitting up like this when Sammy was sick as a kid. Always watching over, always the caretaker. He woke up sometime in the afternoon the next day, stiff and horribly sore. When he opened his eyes, the motel room was filled with that soft light that accompanied fresh snowfall. Dean got up with some difficulty, all his joints and various injuries protesting, to peek out the window. The motel was more than blanketed in snow - it was buried. Looks like they weren't leaving after all.

Dean turned back to his - Cas's - bed. Cas looked as pale as he did last night, if not worse. Sam was still snoring on the other bed. Dean went to get fresh gauze and antiseptic from their kits. He carefully went about re-cleaning and re-bandaging Cas's wounds, which looked unaffected from Dean's treatments. 

"Come on, Cas," Dean found himself saying, quietly, so as not to wake up his brother. "You need to pull through this. You can't go down like this, okay? I - we need you. So you need to heal up and get back to m- us. Get back to us."

On his own bed, Sam listened to all this attentively, brow furrowed in thought.

\---

"Snowed in," Sam announced a few hours later. He sat at the kitchen table with his laptop and a beer shaking his head. "Until Christmas, maybe."

"Christmas?" Dean repeated, looking up. He forgot about Christmas – it must be soon. Dean was sitting in a chair he had casually dragged over to Cas's bed, purportedly to keep his aching leg elevated. Sam had made no comment at the time; broken wrist or not, Dean could still throw a punch. 

"For at least a week, says the reports. Another storm's blowing through the day after tomorrow, and we aren't exactly on the snow plow's priority list out here," Sam said. "Looks like we're getting a very white Christmas - your favorite."

Dean made a little face. "How are we on provisions?"

"We could use some real food, I guess," Sam said, finishing the last of his beer. He peeked out the window. "I guess it stopped snowing - I can venture out, if you wanna stay here. I think I'm better off injury-wise, anyway."

"Yeah, fine. Pick up some more gauze while you're out."

"Sure," Sam said, pulling on his jacket. 

"And make sure to get some real food too - none of that rabbit food crap you're so fond of."

"Uh huh."

"And don't forget booze!"

"I'm not an idiot, Dean."

"Bitch."

"Jerk!"

While Sam was gone, Dean watched Cas like a hawk for any signs of life. Cas didn't move a muscle, he didn't breathe, he just laid exactly how Dean had arranged him the previous night. It was increasingly worrisome. 

And over the next few days, nothing changed. Dean sat by the bed keeping watch, occasionally murmuring a short prayer to Cas if Sam was out of earshot. He cleaned and redressed the wounds every day. If anything Cas's body was looking more... corpse like. Sam only broached the topic once. 

“Dean, we should probably do something before, uh, before…” 

Dean looked up sharply. He sat in his usual spot, right next to the bed where Cas’s body lay, cleaning his guns. Dean snapped the barrel back into place. 

“What’re you talking about?”

Sam hesitated. “Before he, uh, the body, starts to smell.”

Dean nearly dropped the gun he was holding. Sam went on quickly. “Look – this is as hard for me as it is for you. But we can’t be snowed in with a – a – decaying body.”

“He’s not - !” Dean set down his gun deliberately, concentrating on making sure his hand didn’t shake. Of course he had considered the possibility before – that Cas’s vessel was dying or dead – but Dean hadn’t allowed himself to think about that for very long. Cas would come back, he always came back. 

“What happens when he starts to smell? Dean,” Sam shook his head. “I’ve seen the wounds – they’re not healing. They’re all open.”

“They’re not getting worse, either.”

“You don’t know what’s happening inside. And with angels –“

“We don’t have any idea what’s going on, alright? Cas’ll be back. He always – he comes back,” Dean said. 

“Okay – okay,” Sam said, going for a placating tone. “But – maybe not to this vessel. It’s – broken, Dean. Who knows if he’ll be able to come back to it.”

“He came back from being exploded!”

“We don’t know what holy fire does to a vessel, Dean. Not like – not like how we saw.”

Dean had dreams about that fire – it would blind him, he could practically feel it burning into his skin again, and he’d wake up in a cold sweat. It was like he could so acutely feel what that… thing did to Cas, how it tore, not just at his skin and bone, but his very essence. 

“Dean? Are you listening to me?”

He looked back up at his little brother. “We’re not doing anything, Sammy,” Dean said flatly. “He’ll come back. You’ll see.”

Sam looked unconvinced, but he didn’t breech the topic again. The next time he went out for provisions, he bought some essentials for a hunter’s funeral and stowed them in the trunk of the Impala. 

When Dean was ready, they would be prepared.

\---

Christmas Eve. The snow was piling higher and higher outside. Sam tried to keep the path outside their motel room shoveled, but he was fighting a losing battle. He made sure his brother ate and slept, but he hadn’t ever seen Dean like this, wholly consumed with watching over Cas’s body.

Of course, Sam was dead when Dean watched over him in much the same way. 

Sam stamped the snow off his boots in the doorway, arms full of grocery bags. “They said the plow won’t be coming until after the holiday. Maybe not until New Year’s,” he said as he dumped the bags on the kitchen table. “I got enough food to last us through Christmas, at least. And I don’t want to hear anything about the vegetables. We can’t live off fast food and canned stuff - you’re going to get fat.”

When Dean didn’t say anything, Sam looked up. Dean had Cas arranged carefully on top of the bed, in an AC/DC shirt with the bloodied trenchcoat folded carefully on his chest. He tossed a lighter between his hands.

“Dean?” 

“I saw – In the trunk. You’re right. We should – “ Dean stopped, avoiding Sam’s eyes. He wasn’t looking at Cas’s face either – his eyes were on the trenchcoat. 

“We should?” Sam repeated carefully when Dean didn’t say anything for several minutes. Dean looked up at Sam, brow pinched together and a muscle working in his jaw. 

“Get the pyre built, alright?”

The weak winter sunlight was fading fast by the time Sam had finished putting the pyre together in the forest behind their motel. Snow was falling again as Dean carried Cas’s body to the secluded spot. Cas was impossibly light in his arms, and cold, not because of the snow either. The weightiness of life had gone out of the vessel. The quiet, calmness that Dean usually associated with the fresh snow fall now felt oppressively loud, the silence practically ringing in his ears.

Sam kept his distance; he had already offered to help once – since Dean’s wrist was still broken – but Dean snapped at him, so Sam just let him get on with it. Still, he was right behind Dean, supplies in hand, ready to step in when asked. 

With shaking hands, Dean laid out Cas’s body on the pyre. Dean placed the trench on Cas’s chest, folding his hands over it. He smoothed Cas’s hair away from his forehead, fingers lingering on Cas’s jaw for just a minute before he stepped back. Sam wordlessly passed Dean a bottle of whiskey before he leaned in to light the pyre. 

It was slow to burn, what with the wet wood and falling snow, but Dean stood and watched the flames lick over Cas’s body, trying not to think about the way the holy fire had done much the same not a week and a half ago. He drank from his bottle, eyes never once leaving the pyre as it slowly crumbled into ash. It was well past dark now, the snow starting to fall thicker. Dean couldn’t feel his extremities and a good portion of the whiskey was gone. Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Come on,” he said, voice low. He had stood by Dean the whole night, wordlessly there for his brother, for Cas. 

Together, they walked back to their motel room. Sam closed the door behind him and turned up the heat. 

“D’you want an extra blanket?” Sam asked. Dean shook his head, staring down at the bed that Cas had previously occupied. Sam nodded, stepping into the bathroom to change into his PJs. When he came back out, Dean was still staring at the bed, drinking from a bottle. Dean sat on the edge of the bed as Sam climbed into his own. He listened for Sam’s breathing to even out, sipping from his whiskey bottle until he was sure Sam was asleep. Dean closed his eyes and prayed. 

“Cas,” Dean whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking. He swallowed down another gulp of whiskey, licking his lips before he spoke again, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Sam. “Cas, if you’re still out there, somewhere out there, I’m sorry – I’m sorry I didn’t get there fast enough. I’m sorry we didn’t know what to do for you, for your vessel. So – if you come back, feel free to kick my ass.”

Dean shook his head, taking a deep breath before he went on. “But – but if you’re gone, if you’re not coming back –“ Dean’s voice broke again. His guilt swelled up again; all his previous prayers had selfishly begged for Cas to come back to him, to get better so he could come back to him. It was time to let go. “I just – I hope you’re in a better place.”

Dean drank until the darkness closed in around him. He dreamed of flames licking at his skin, burning his flesh away until it seared his bones, blackening them, until there was nothing left. He couldn’t cry out, he could only watch, helpless, as bits of himself turned to ash and fluttered away, like grey snowflakes, swirling around him until it all faded into black. Then it was quiet, just the flutter of ashen flakes as they slowly accumulated around him. 

“Hello, Dean,” a gravelly voice near Dean’s ear broke the oppressive silence of his unconscious. That voice almost hurt more than the silence. He tried to shy away from it, but it came again: “Wake up, Dean. It’s okay.”

Something was pulling him up, Dean was gasping for air, like he had been drowning in his own subconscious and was only just now remembering to breath. His eyes flew open and Cas was there, in one piece, trenchcoat and all, perched on the edge of his bed. The odd silvery light that came through the windows cast strange shadows over Cas, and Dean felt like he was still dreaming. He had to be. 

“You are not dreaming,” Cas said, eyes searching Dean’s face. His expression softened at the mingled look of disbelief and pain on the hunter’s face. He reached for Dean’s shoulder. “This is very real, Dean.”

Dean stared at Cas, eyes wide and uncomprehending. He felt fingers squeeze his shoulder, and it did feel real, but… 

“You were – gone,” Dean said uncertainly. Cas nodded once.

“I had to return to Heaven to… power up, as you say. My vessel was weakened by the holy fire but I – mmph!”

Dean surged up suddenly, hands pressing against the sides of Cas’s face. He could feel the rough stubble of Cas’s cheeks under his fingers, even the warmth of blood running Cas’s skin. Before he even knew what he was doing, Dean was pressing his mouth against Cas’s, kissing him desperately, all hot breath and teeth, like he could just swallow Cas down and never let him leave again. 

“Uh – “ 

Dean pulled away to see Sam standing in the doorway, clutching some bags. “Sammy, I can explain –“

“Fucking finally!” Sam said, dropping the bags and kicking the door shut. “I mean – I’m really glad to see you alive, Cas, but seriously. Finally.”


	3. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bonus - Cas and Dean celebrate Christmas in their own way (sexily!).

When Sam finally stopped telling them exactly how long he knew they were in love – “Years, Dean! Years! All those looks -!” – Cas and Dean left the motel room, and Sammy’s shouting, behind. They walked shoulder to shoulder in the thick snow, which had stopped falling for the time being. The initial shock of Cas’s return was wearing off, and Dean was feeling a little jittery. His head pounded from the hangover, and did he really kiss Cas? 

Cas led them into the forest. Dean kept sneaking side glances at Cas, but it was really him – every piece where it should be. Cas didn’t say anything, looking straight ahead as they walked, but the corners of his mouth were turned up in a little smile. They came into a clearing in the middle of the forest, where a thick blanket of snow coated the ground. 

“Sit, Dean,” Cas said. Dean squinted at him. 

“It’s snow – I’ll get all cold and wet.”

Cas raised his eyebrows at him. “Trust me, Dean. Just sit.”

Grumbling about wet jeans (“Couldn’t you at least magic up a blanket or something?”), Dean sat in the snow with some difficulty, his lingering aches and bruises protesting. He was surprised to find that the snow was soft, dry, and _warm_ underneath his hands. He blinked up at Cas, who sat down next to him. 

“Happy Christmas, Dean Winchester,” Castiel said, looking at Dean with a softness in his eyes that Dean had never noticed before. He blinked back at the angel. 

“What?”

“Maybe it’s – merry Christmas?” Cas tried again. 

Dean blinked at him dumbly. “I don’t understand –“

Cas snapped his fingers, and suddenly there was a tiny little Christmas tree, fully decorated, standing at their feet. He passed Dean a steaming mug of eggnog, and nearby were two steaming plates of a Christmas feast. 

“It’s Christmas,” Cas said, watching Dean’s face anxiously as he sniffed at the mug of eggnog. Dean took a sip – it was more nog than egg. “Well, Christ was technically born in the summer time, but the Church has celebrated Christmas to coincide with the pagan holidays – and the holiday never had much to do with Jesus anyway –“

“Okay, yeah, I know it’s Christmas, but… Why?”

“Ah – Dean,” Cas’s lips twitched up in a little smile. “You are forever taking care of everyone but yourself. Please allow me to take care of you.”

Cas made a little gesture to the food and the little tree. “I – I heard your prayers, Dean,” Cas continued. He hesitated a moment and then reached for Dean’s hand. Dean let him take it, still blinking at Cas in stunned disbelief. Cas looked down at their intertwined hands, his thumb stroking gently over the back of Dean’s hand. “I have never known a human to love as completely, as fully as you do.”

Cas leaned in and pressed his mouth to Dean’s, much more chaste than the kiss Dean had given him earlier. A small noise – a whimper, really, that Dean would deny making later – escaped Dean’s mouth. But he kissed him back, tentatively at first, and then with a building intensity. Cas pulled the mug from Dean’s hands and practically scrambled into his lap, kissing him harder. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and held him there, pausing to rest his forehead against Cas’s. 

“Dean? What is it?”

Dean shook his head once. “Just – thanks. For everything,” Dean said, voice low. Cas smiled. 

“Anything for you, Dean.”

Dean surged up again, fisting his hands in Cas’s pristine coat, tugging and pulling it until it slipped off Cas’s shoulders and fell into the snow around them. He worked off Cas’s suit jacket while Cas fumbled with the buttons of Dean’s shirt. The snow was soft and warm around them, contrasting pleasantly with the cool breeze that skated over Dean’s freshly exposed skin. Cas’s chest was warm as it pressed against his own. The angel settled in between Dean’s legs, his hands roaming over Dean’s chest. His fingers skated over Dean’s bruised ribs, healing each one with a little tingle of magic. Dean’s hands settled around Cas’s hips, thumbing at his waistband. 

“Cas,” Dean breathed against Cas’s lips. 

“Yes?”

“Can I…?” Dean tugged at Cas’s belt loops a little. Cas blinked. 

“Me? You want – me?” 

Dean’s hands stilled against Cas’s hips, a look of uncertainty passing over his face. “I – you heard my prayers, right?”

“You didn’t mention sex,” Cas replied, brow furrowing. Dean rolled his eyes. 

“I thought it was implied.”

Cas snapped his fingers, and suddenly they were both completely naked. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous,” he said by way of explanation. Dean couldn’t say anything in response because Cas’s tongue was wrapped around his. 

It took Dean’s brain a minute or two to process what exactly was happening – the slide of Cas’s naked body against his, the heat pooling between his legs, the wet drag of precome over his thigh from Cas’s erection. Dean managed to drag his mouth away from Cas with a slick pop. He looked up at Cas, confused. 

“You sure you want to…?”

Cas blinked. “Yes,” he replied without hesitation. Dean shifted up so he was resting on his elbows. 

“So, d’you want me to –“

“Dean,” Cas said, the exasperation clear in his voice. “I have been watching humanity for thousands of years. I know what I’m doing.”

And he _did_ know what he was doing. Cas’s hands somehow found every sensitive patch of skin on Dean’s body, his tongue doing sinful things in Dean’s mouth, his cock dragging against Dean’s in what could only be described as filthy. Dean was arching up against Cas and gasping his name, relishing the contrast of the chilly breeze and Cas’s hot breath. Cas wrapped his hand around both of their cocks, smearing the dribble of precome over the tip of Dean’s cock. 

“Please,” Dean murmured, sucking Cas’s lower lip into his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

This was not how he pictured it happening, if Dean was going to be completely honest with himself. He _had_ pictured it, ever since that night in the cat house, but Dean had always imagined him taking the lead. Cas had seemed so scared with Chastity – it seemed only logical that Dean would guide Cas through his first sexual experience. But now that it was happening, Dean was more than okay with Cas taking control. He could feel the strength, the surety in Cas’s hands as he gripped his body and Dean knew, somewhere deep in his soul, in the back of his subconscious, that this was right. 

Cas let go of their cocks. Dean’s hips bucked up and a whine fell from his lips at the loss. He thought he saw a smile pull at Cas’s lips and then Cas’s hand trailed over his balls and back, slicked fingers pressing against his perineum then reaching back further. Dean wondered faintly where Cas found the lube, but the thought was pushed out of his head as Cas’s fingers circled his hole, pressing and stroking. He squirmed against Cas’s hand. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Cas’s fingers slipped inside of him, pulling a little gasp from Dean’s mouth instead. Cas marveled at how easily Dean opened up for him, how he rocked his hips to take his fingers deeper, how Dean’s cock steadily drooled precome onto his belly. 

“More,” Dean gasped as Cas crooked his fingers inside of him. “More – Cas, c’mon, don’t stop now – “

Dean saw stars burst behind his eyelids for a moment, when Cas pressed into that one spot inside of him, and then the feeling was suddenly gone, he was suddenly empty. For a brief sickening moment, the cold swept over Dean’s bare body and he thought Cas had disappeared – that it all _had_ been a dream, after all – but then Cas was back. The angel slipped his arms around Dean’s body, holding him close so the warmth of his chest seeped back into Dean’s skin. 

“I’m not leaving,” Cas whispered against Dean’s mouth. “I’m right here.”

Dean’s arms came up and wrapped around Cas’s neck, anchoring him against him. He felt the blunt tip of Cas’s cock press against him, and then the delicious pull-stretch-burn as Cas sank into him. He could feel Cas there with him, and the little bit of pain as he stretched him open let Dean know that Cas wasn’t going anywhere, he was right there with him. 

“Is this okay?” Cas murmured after a moment, letting Dean adjust around him. 

“Wha…? Yeah – c’mon – “ Dean panted. He shifted his legs wider, getting purchase in the warm snow to roll his hips up to Cas encouragingly. He was pretty sure he kicked the little Christmas tree over. Cas nodded and pressed a hot kiss to Dean’s lips. 

“Yes, Dean.”

Cas started up a slow, steady pace. Long thrusts in and out, dragging over Dean’s prostate, as Cas’s hands mapped out every inch of skin, kissing whatever bit of Dean’s face, neck, shoulders he could reach. Dean clenched hotly around him, hooking a leg around Cas to pull him in closer. He was panting in Cas’s ear, fingers raking along his back until they tangled in Cas’s hair. Dean felt too full, too vulnerable, but somehow it was all okay. 

“You’re – ah – beautiful like this, Dean,” Cas grunted. Dean shook his head, the flush already high in his cheeks. He pressed his face against Cas’s shoulder to hide his embarrassment, but Cas tilted his chin up and kissed him deeply, sweetly, and for a moment Dean believed him. 

Dean lifted up to meet Cas, thrust for thrust, urging him on with little urgent whispers and moans. His cock pressed against Cas’s stomach, smearing precome across his skin. Cas shifted, pulling Dean roughly to him. He wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock and stroked him down. 

“Is this what you wanted, Dean?” Cas asked, nuzzling just under Dean’s jaw. He scraped his teeth lightly of Dean’s neck. He felt Dean shudder underneath him. Dean nodded against Cas’s head, turning his head to brush his open mouth over Cas’s forehead. 

“Yeah – more,” Dean arched his whole body up, pushing his cock insistently into Cas’s hand. Cas twisted his wrist on the upstroke, wringing a gasp from Dean’s lips. “Yes!”

Cas did it again, timing his thrust in to match. He felt Dean clench tightly around him, making him gasp. When Cas did it again, Dean’s whole body shook and the hunter was crying out. Cas felt Dean’s cock twitch in his hand and then spill over, hot come cooling much too quickly in the chilly winter air. Cas plastered his body against Dean’s, hips moving faster, harder, even as Dean’s muscles clenched and fluttered around him. Dean’s head was tilted back, mouth hanging open, eyes heavy-lidded – blissed out. 

“Dean,” Cas breathed, peppering kisses over Dean’s open mouth. 

“Cas,” Dean murmured back. He arched up feebly, fingers grazing lightly over Cas’s back. He met Cas’s eyes and nodded, just once. A moment later, Cas thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt. He came with a strangled cry, and it was like nothing he had expected. His body shook and it felt like he was going to lose control of his vessel, but Dean’s hands around him grounded him, kept him close. Cas all but collapsed against Dean, hips still rutting easily against him until everything was too sensitive to keep moving. He nuzzled under Dean’s jaw, listening to him catch his breath and his heartbeat return to normal. Dean’s fingers ran softly up and down Cas’s spine. After several minutes of silence, Dean spoke. 

“The – ah,” Dean cleared his throat. His voice sounded used – could he have been that loud? “The food’s going to be cold.”

“No,” Cas said simply, slightly muffled against Dean’s neck. Dean breathed out. 

“Oh, okay.”

They fell quiet again. 

“Cas –“ Dean began a few moments later. Cas picked up his head to look at him. 

“Am I crushing you?”

“What?” Dean said, losing his train of thought. “No – you don’t weigh a thing.”

“I can move. I know you still have many injuries, but I can heal them if you’d like.”

Dean’s arm tightened around Cas’s waist. “No, just listen, okay?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, can you just –“

“Perhaps I should –“

“Cas, I love you,” Dean blurted out. Cas blinked and then smiled softly, sliding his hand under Dean’s chin. Dean thought fleetingly that this had to be the best Christmas ever. 

“I heard your prayers. This is why I came back to you. I know, Dean. I always knew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays!


End file.
